by Carol Lee
Death by Chocolate
A Dessert First Cozy Mystery
by Carol Lee
Copyright 2013 © Carol Lee
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2013 Carol Lee
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author and/or publisher. No part of this publication may be sold or hired, without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the writer’s imagination and / or have been used fictitiously in such a fashion it is not meant to serve the reader as actual fact and should not be considered as actual fact. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Visit my website at: https://www.facebook.com/CarolLeeAuthor
CHAPTER 1
The incessant buzzing of the alarm finally tore me from my dreams. I pulled on the jeans from the pile of clean, but as yet, unfolded clothes and snagged one of the Dessert First t-shirts from the box. I had fifty printed, but they hadn’t been a big seller in the first few months of business, so rather than store them at the bakery, I took them home. It did make choosing something to wear for work much easier.
After brushing my long hair and twirling it into a braid, I went into the kitchen, poured a packet of instant oatmeal into the mug, added water and put it into the microwave. It made me laugh that the owner of a bakery, who makes yummy treats for a living, never cooked breakfast, or any meal for that matter. The cinnamon oatmeal made the kitchen smell good and I quickly spooned the hot lumps into my mouth when I realized that it was after 4 am already. I put the mug in the sink and grabbed my coat. One perk of living in a small town was that you were close to everything.
Seven minutes of walking later, I turned the old-fashioned key in the lock and the click echoed along the silent Main Street. At 4:15 in the morning, the sleepy little town of Fish Creek Falls had even less going on than usual. The waterfall and small stream that named the town seemed hushed on this early fall morning. I just stood for a minute enjoying the bright moon and crisp air. Moving here had been a good choice after the divorce. It’d been a fresh start all the way around. Getting away from the city to a small town that even had fresh air helped to clear my lungs and my head from all of the complications of city life and ending a relationship. I took another deep breath and fingered the letters: Myra Bailey, Owner. The door to my dream bakery; it was solid and a reality. I smiled and went inside to start the day.
Inside the tiny shop, I hung up my coat, washed my hands and got busy filling the urns with water for the morning’s coffee: regular, decaf and French Vanilla. Then I grabbed the chopped apples, blueberries, cranberries, milk and eggs from the huge refrigerator and slipped my now much-worn apron over my head. Flipping the dark braid onto my shoulder, I smoothed the chocolate cake logo on the apron.
“Today, I think I’ll make four Death by Chocolate cakes,” I announced to the empty bakery.
The big oven groaned to life as I began mixing batters and cutting scones. I loved everything about baking. Making a variety of baked goods kept things interesting, but making the old standbys held a certain satisfaction, as well.
Not only had the Death by Chocolate been my signature baked item, but it had become the single offering that made Barbara’s Brilliance bakery customers beat a path right to my shop because of the great chocolate cake. Barbara’s Brilliance had been in business for nearly twenty years as the sole bakery in the town. My Dessert First presented the first competition that she had ever had. The Death by Chocolate had given me a customer base to start with and now, since I’ve lived in the town awhile, people also knew me and that helped too, I thought.
At five o’clock, I switched the first urns and popped the batches of muffins in the oven. Along with the muffins, I tossed in some scones, turnovers and assorted breads and rolls. By the time I punched down a batch of bread dough, the coffee wafted through the air and mingled satisfyingly with the homey smells of the baked goods. Then I cleaned up the prep area and washed my hands, brushed flour from my apron and went to turn on the computer/cash register. I counted the few dollars in it and shut the drawer. It made the familiar beep to signal it had woken up and stood ready to work. Finally, I mixed the bleach water and wiped the counter down. I noticed that the card holder held no more cards.
Wow, those went fast! Thanks, Lizzie, I thought, making a mental note to thank her the next time I saw her. Lizzie, my closest friend since college had suggested that I make some cards that offered recipes on them that could double as business cards. I had been doing it, but the first cards didn’t disappear like this batch did.
I guess this town is sweet on chocolate, I thought. The molten chocolate cake recipe had disappeared in only a few days. I needed to make more cards. I went to the cluttered desk that I’d tucked into the corner behind the counter and scribbled a note. I stuck it right on the computer screen that scrolled the bakery name in circles as a screen saver. Dessert First. I loved that name. As a kid, I’d always teased to have dessert before dinner. My mother had never gone for it because she didn’t especially like sweets, but I thought that if she were around today, she’d get a kick out of the name anyway. I looked up at the clock and smiled at a picture of mom hanging near it. It reminded me to put on the hot water for tea.
Right, Mom, hot water for tea. I went and put on the enormous kettle for the tea drinkers in town.
Though I’d been keeping a steady pace while doing the opening prep, I liked that I didn’t have to really rush. The shop had been open for about four months and had been doing very well. The true “rush” in the tiny town, however, still belonged to Barbara’s Brilliance down the street.
Just then the door opened and in walked the first customer of the day. Willie, a handyman who traveled wherever his work took him came into the shop wearing paint-stained clothes and his signature blue bandanna on his head. A bit of red hair poked out from under it.
“Any muffins this morning, Miss Myra?”
“Morning Willie. Sure, berry or apple. What’s the winner today?”
“An apple and a vat of coffee this morning,” he patted a worn-looking thermos.
“A vat? Sounds like you have a long day ahead and off to an early start, too.”
“I do, gotta, um, get going.” He put his head down and reached into his pocket. I noticed his sleeve had a brownish stain that reminded me of chocolate cake as he handed me the five dollar bill.
“It’s three with only one muffin,” I said and tried to hand his change back. He waved me off and rushed out the door.
“He’s acting a bit weird this morning,” I said to the empty shop.
Barely five minutes passed and my second customer came through the door. The tall man sported a tweed jacket that showed a hint of the well-defined muscles beneath and a dark tie. He had a slightly shadowed look from an unshaven face.
“Hi Green Eyes, what’s cooking?” Detective David Bentley asked.
Suddenly, it had gotten really warm in the bakery. I took a breath before turning to the counter.
“Don’t you mean baking, Detective?” I couldn’t keep my smile contained.
“Maybe, but it ruins my line that way,” he smiled and his icy blue eyes fixed on me.
“What can I get for you this morning?” I asked clearing my throat and trying to stop smiling. I wiped my hands casually on my apron hoping he wouldn’t know that my hands were sweaty. Get a grip, you’re not twelve, I told myself.
“How about s
omething different; I’ll have French Vanilla today.”
“You always have French Vanilla. Only cream right?”
“Yup, don’t need to be any sweeter,” he said as he adjusted the volume on his radio.
I put the lid on the cup and handed it to him.
“So, we’ve been neighbors for nearly what – three months or so?” he asked as he handed me cash for the coffee.
“Four months and six days, give or take,” I blurted, immediately wishing I hadn’t been counting.
“Well, since we’re old friends, I think we should have dinner tomorrow. You’re free right? Great, I’ll swing by your house at 7.”
With that, he turned and left before I could even get a word formed to say yes or no. I had a date. I smoothed the apron, took a deep breath and tried to wipe the dopey smile off my face. No use, I thought and went to get my phone to text Lizzie.
The door opened a third time and in came Rachel Anderson, the owner of the best and only clothing shop in town. She had a royal purple cape on this morning with an apple green and sky blue silk scarf. Her knee-high black boots and cream leggings rounded out the outfit. At nearly six feet tall, she was quite a presence. I straightened and stood a bit taller as I waited on her.
“Good morning, Rachel.”
“Dahling Myra, what is delicious this morning?”
“Everything, of course,” I added with a small chuckle and a wave over the case.
“Well, how about a cup of Earl and one of your exquisite orange scones.”
“As you wish.”
“Thanks ever so much. You know, last night I talked with Barbara at the theater and told her how much I just loved your scones. She doesn’t make them, you know. She did point out that she has a larger menu than your little shop here and that makes you both able to coexist in town. Then I had the best chat with Mark about his next season’s shows. You know, I am a season ticket holder at the theater and do you know what I found out last night? That you two had some history in college. Well, I know it must’ve been ages ago, but I thought maybe you might join me for a little get-together tomorrow night. I’ve invited simply everyone and since you and Mark haven’t had much time to catch up, I thought it might be nice…”
“Here you are,” I interrupted pretending to not hear the invitation or the dig about my age. I guess nearly twenty-five years is ages, but I didn’t need to be reminded.
The door opened again and in walked Mark Corner, owner of the theater in town. His thin and wiry body clad in a dark blue running clothes and neon vest made him look oddly like a street sign.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Oh Mark, dahling, I have just been telling Myra about my little soiree and how nice it will be for you two to catch up. When I told Cynthia, you know the Mayor’s wife, that you might have been the one to bring Myra to our little town, she simply couldn’t contain herself. You know how she can be with news about people in town.” She dropped her voice to a whisper, “She’s a bit of a gossip, you know.”
“Morning, Bailey. How’s business? Can I get a bottle of water?” he said simply, ignoring her. Mark had seemed really anxious lately about how the bakery competed with Barbara’s.
“Hi Mark. Pretty steady, thanks. Just the water?”
“Yup, forgot mine this morning and I want to get an early run in,” he wiped a bit of sweat from his forehead and looked at Rachel who seemed to be staring at one and then the other of us. While Mark had made a point to stop in to see me from time to time, he still gave Barbara his morning business and he had her cater all cast parties and other theater events. It seemed a bit weird for him to come in this early instead of going to Barbara’s.
“That’s just a dollar for the water,” I said.
He fumbled with a zippered pocket in his vest and handed me a damp five. Rachel fished in her cape and came out with cash and handed it to me, as well. I moved to the register for some change.
“So, I can expect you both, then?” Rachel asked as I gave her the change.
“I’m sorry Rachel, but I have plans for tomorrow evening. Another time, perhaps,” I said as sweetly as I could. I tried to quell the smile at the thought of my date.
He took the change and he stared at me. His expression seemed slightly angry or maybe it was just curious? I felt a little uncomfortable as, lately, he’d seemed more like the old Mark. My smile faded. Mark and I had dated in college for about a year, but it ended when he started a fight at his fraternity after another frat brother poured me a drink. He’d gotten completely out of control. Years later, we’d bumped into each other again in the city and had coffee. He seemed more mature, calm, and together and even focused. He’d just bought the theater here in Fish Creek Falls and brimmed with plans for movie nights, plays and community events. I’d been added to his newsletters and Facebook pages so when he found out about my split with Rick, he’d told me about the building waiting to become my bakery. He’d turned out to be a good friend.
“Oh, well, Mark dahling, I’ll see you there, then, TTFN!” She swooped out the door.
“So you’re escaping the festivities tomorrow? Something fun planned?”
“Yeah, you’ll just have to hang out with all the cool people without me,” I avoided the question about plans. Somehow, it felt odd to tell him that I had a date.
My phone buzzed, probably with the reply text from Lizzie. I glanced in the phone’s direction, but stayed at the counter to not be rude.
“Go ahead,” he said and winked. “I’m gonna hit the road. It could be about your plans for tomorrow.”
Once he closed the door, I grabbed my phone and read the text. It was from Lizzie: Be over in 10.
I texted: K, and hit send as the shop door opened again and I heard the jingle bells of Lizzie’s phone and looking up I saw her red beret and white coat as she bounced over to the counter, looked quickly around and then leaned on it. Lizzie loved to shop and I knew the white coat looked new.
“So, I want to hear ev-er-y-thing about Detective Hunky. I can’t believe you scooped him before I did. I’ve been single much longer than you. Well? Details,” she took a breath.
“New coat? It’s nice,” I said with a smile.
“Ugh, really? Yes, it’s new, so tell me.”
“There’s not much to tell. He asked me to dinner tomorrow night and I couldn’t speak, so he thought I agreed,” I grabbed the rag from the bleach water and wiped down the counter again.
“You said nothing? How could you not say anything? Did he say where you’re going? Seriously, MB, you are killing me here.”
Before I could answer, the door opened again and in came the other half of the town’s detective squad, Peter Lynch, the district attorney, Abe Redmond and his wife Millie, the secretary to the mayor. While I loved having more people come into the shop, these three had only come in for the grand opening to check things out. They had been solid patrons of Barbara’s.
“Morning everyone,” I said in a cheerful voice. Lizzie stepped aside to let them order.
“Good morning, Ms. Bailey,” Abe said cordially.
Millie smiled and nodded as she looked over the scones. Peter just stared. He, among all of the people that I’d met, had been the most difficult to get to know. Since he’d grown up here, I’d guessed he just didn’t like strangers, or maybe he just didn’t like me for some reason.
“I think I’ll have a scone and a small decaf with just cream,” Millie said quietly.
I nodded and looked at the gentlemen. Since neither spoke, I fixed her coffee.
“Just a black coffee for me,” Peter mumbled.
“I’ll have a French Vanilla with cream and sugar,” Abe said. “I didn’t know you had flavored coffee, Ms. Bailey.”
“I usually have French Vanilla and sometimes I add another flavor. Call me Myra.”
“Well Myra,” Abe said, “I think I’m glad that Barbara’s was opening late this morning,” he handed me a twenty and gestured to all of the items on the c
ounter.
“Why is it closed?” Lizzie asked.
“The note on the door said that she had an appointment this morning and would open at lunchtime,” Millie answered in her hushed voice.
I smiled at the small town way of doing business as I rang up the sale. Handwritten notes sufficed.
“Thank you very much. I hope to see you again,” I said as I handed the change back to Abe. He gave the fifty-three cents back to me. Small town.
“Have a nice day,” Abe said and the three filed out.
“Cheerful crowd, huh?” Lizzie commented.
“Yeah, but it’s weird that Barbara is closed. Why didn’t she have Ron open for her?” Ron, Barbara’s ex-husband, had just come back to town. He’d been in prison for insurance fraud. He’d been helping Barbara out, or maybe she’d been helping him out by letting him work with her.
“No idea, but it’s good for you, right?”
“It is,” I smiled.
The morning passed quickly because there were more of Barbara’s customers that came in and Lizzie even helped a few times before she headed out to work. By lunchtime, things had calmed down and I put the last of the Death by Chocolate cakes in the case, put on a batch of rolls and made a few loaves of bread. I sat down at the desk for the first time around two during a lull, checked email and browsed through my recipes for the next business card offering. The siren startled me since I’d really only heard them during a parade in town. When I heard a second one, I went outside to see what had happened. I could see a crowd forming and an ambulance, police car and the fire rescue truck, but I couldn’t tell exactly which shop they were going to down there.
I grabbed my coat, locked the shop and went down the road to join the crowd. When I got there, I realized that they were all gathered around Barbara’s Brilliance. The door hung only by the bottom hinge at a crazy angle and the gurney from the ambulance blocked the doorway. I could see movement inside, but the large lettering on the window made it tough to make out how many people were inside.
“What happened,” I asked of no one in particular.
“It’s Barbara.” Someone answered. “I think she’s dead.”
I swallowed hard. How could she be? I saw her just the other day at the Main Street Merchants meeting. We’d joked about having a bake off to see whose apple pie tasted better. I been told she’d had an appointment this morning. Had she been ill, I wondered.
“Step back, folks,” David said in a very official voice.
The crowd milled around a bit, but didn’t really move all that much. Then questions started erupting. “What happened?” “She’s gonna be alright, won’t she?” “Did anyone call her husband?” “Is she dead?” “What’s going on, Dave?”
The last question came from Abe Redmond.
“Not sure yet, we’re still processing the scene. Want to come inside and we’ll brief you on what we know at this point?”
The crowd stayed eerily quiet at the interchange and then the gurney got pushed out of the bakery and the hush continued. White sheets covered the figure on the stretcher, but there could be no doubt that it held a lifeless body. I stared like everyone else. Stunned and a bit shaken.
“Give us some room,” called Peter Lynch and the startled crowd parted.
Backing up myself, I caught Peter staring at me. I felt really uneasy by the piercing look he gave me, but then he looked away and scanned the crowd. He looked as though he was taking a head count or attendance. With that, David came out, also interested in the spectators. He saw me and came over.
“What are you doing here?”
“I heard the sirens and came to find out what was going on.”
“Okay folks,” he bellowed. “Let’s get going. Show’s over.” Then he took my elbow. Lightning shot through my body.
“Listen, go back to your shop and stay there. I’ll be over as soon as I can. Don’t talk to anyone until I get there,” he said quietly.
Dumbfounded, I walked back to the shop and fumbled with the lock to get inside. I thought about placing the closed sign on the door, but then I didn’t. Don’t talk to anyone? Why? What’s going on? I wondered.
A few minutes later, the door opened and in strode David. His expression seemed intense and worried.
“Green Eyes, what time did you get here to open this morning?” he asked as he leaned toward me over the counter.
“Same time as usual, about 4:15.” I backed away a step. “Why?” My legs felt numb and wobbly.
“Did you see anyone or talk to anyone?”
“No.” The full weight of what he asked hit me and I felt dizzy. “You’re asking me for an alibi. How did Barbara die?”
“You tell me,” he said looking at the counter.
“What? David. What is going on?”
“Okay, Barbara didn’t die of natural causes. I can’t tell you any of the details, but Myra, you are the main suspect.”
“Are you kidding? Me? Why on earth would I be a suspect?” Becoming indignant actually helped me to chase the shock away, but I tried to keep myself under control.
“I wish I was joking, but Barbara was murdered this morning between three and four and one of your recipe cards turned up under the body.”
“No. It’s not possible. You can’t think it was me. David, say you don’t think I had anything to do with it.”
He looked at me directly with his piercing eyes and I stared back, pleading with mine, for him to believe me. Tears started to well up, but I sniffed them back.
“I don’t think you did, but Peter and friends think your motive is pretty strong and will be coming to question you soon. That’s why I wanted to talk to you before that all happened so you could be prepared.”
“Prepared? You’re preparing me by accusing me of murder?” My heart raced.
“Hey, try and calm down. I wanted to talk to you about it before the others. I thought somehow it might be easier for you to hear it from, a—a friend.”
I stepped back to the counter, took a deep breath and reached for his hand.
“Thanks, friend.”
“Look, I don’t think that they can convict you on a recipe card at the scene, but I won’t lie, the investigation won’t be easy to take and in this town, perception is sometimes more powerful than reality.”
“You’re saying that I’m not just a suspect; I am THE suspect, aren’t you?”
He just stared at me.
“This is insane. They’re going to make the case fit me? I’m going to be framed for murder?”
“No, of course not, but you should have a good lawyer in your corner. I’d call Brian Cahill over in Caraway. He’s a good man and he grew up here.”
“I need you to tell me more about what happened.”
“I can’t right now. I need to get back to the station. I’ll swing by later. Just keep your head down, okay?”
“I’m going to prove to you, and everyone in this town, that I had nothing to do with this.”
He smiled for the first time since he’d come in and said, “That’s the spirit, Green Eyes.”
I grabbed my phone. I had to call Lizzie and tell her what happened.